


The First Ten Days

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Kidlock, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-10-01
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2368646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson recalls the first 10 days he spent with Sherlock Holmes after their initial meeting at school.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 1

I was just a Year 5 student when I met Sherlock Holmes. I went to a very small primary school. My class only consisted of about 120 students. I'd heard there was going to be a new student, which was news as students rarely joined the school. They'd only ever left.  
But he was two years below me so I never took any interest in him. I'd just assumed he'd be on the outs for a few weeks, make a friend in his class, and be a normal student. He was from a London boarding school, surely he'd turn a few heads.  
And he did. He turned mine.  
Day 1  
I was standing in the outfield of the makeshift kickball diamond. It had been made out of three gym shirts and an old jacket. All of which had been donated by a Year 4 student, who was always trying to fit in with our class. I'd never cared much for kickball. It had always seemed like a sport that should be left to the Americans. As I often was, I was in my own little world until I'd heard a unified chorus of people shouting at me. The ball had been kicked right towards me and I'd just let it roll past.  
"Way to go, Watson. Now they've got three more runs." My team's pitcher snapped.  
"Shut up, Jim." I snapped back as I turned to run after the ball.  
I pulled to a stop next to a younger student with a mess of curly black hair. The ball had landed next to him and now he was staring at it with disgust. "Are you okay?" I asked as I grabbed the rubber ball.  
"I'm fine." As soon as he'd spoken, I realised he was the new kid. For a Year 3 student, his voice was startlingly low.  
"What're you doing over here all alone?"  
"Tour jeté's." He answered harshly.  
I stared at him in confusion, attempting to understand what a "torjetty" was. "Well, why don't you play with anyone?"  
"Don't want to." He sharply turned and walked a few meters away and was clearly waiting for me to leave to resume whatever it was he'd been doing.  
"John! Come on! Leave the stupid kid be!"  
I cast one more curious glance in this strange kid's direction before running off to the game.  
After throwing the ball back to the pitcher, I walked over to one of the other students in the outfield, casually glancing over my shoulder at the lonely kid who was now doing some sort of weird jumps. "Hey, Mike. Who is that?"  
"Who's who?" Mike followed my gaze to the boy. "Oh, that's Sherlock." My face contorted in confusion. "Yeah, I know. It's his name though. He's new."  
"I figured. So what's he doing?"  
"Probably ballet. He likes that sort of thing."  
"Is that what a torjetty is?"  
"I guess."  
"Why do you know him?"  
"My dad and his mum worked together for a while. He's really weird and annoying. Just leave him be." Mike turned his attention back to the game just in time to be hit in the face by the ball.  
I sighed in frustration as several of the other students crowded to ask if Mike was okay, and even more groaned with growing impatience. I, myself, simply sat down in the grass and watched one of the teachers walk up to assess the situation, and finally announce that the game was over and everyone needed to go back to class.  
***  
I was walking home later that day, padding down the pavement, mostly reviewing long division in my head as I did so. "I don't see why we have to learn this. Math is too hard." I pouted for a moment before spotting that messy black haired kid again just a ways ahead of me. "Hey!" I shouted, trying to draw his attention. "Hey, wait up!"  
I jogged to catch up to Sherlock, who seemed surprised at the sudden company. "You seem awfully lonely."  
"If you're here to make fun of me, just say it already." Sherlock scowled at me.  
"What?" I stared at him. "Why would I make fun of you?"  
"Everyone else does."  
"That's not very nice."  
"What do you want?"  
"I don't want anything. I just--"  
"No one talks to me unless they want something from me."  
"Okay, I guess I do want something from you."  
Sherlock scoffed. "Told you."  
"What's a torjetty?" I asked, shifting the bag on my back.  
"A tour jeté?" Sherlock corrected, somewhat taken aback by the question.  
"Yeah, that! You said You were doing them. What are they?"  
"Why do you care?"  
"I'm trying to make conversation."  
"Why?"  
"You're really not good at talking to people are you?"  
"A tour jeté is a ballet jump. Now make fun of me and go away." He folded his arms across his chest, unconsciously preparing for the name calling that he was sure was to follow.  
"I'm not going to make fun of you." I frowned. "Do you really get picked on that often?" Sherlock only glared at me which caused us to settle into an uncomfortable silence. After a minute I piped back up. "Well, can I see?"  
Sherlock's face finally softened into a nervous confusion. "You'd actually want to see?"  
"I guess. I've never seen a tor jetay."  
"Tour jeté."  
"Yeah, that." I folded my arms in anticipation. "Go on then."  
Sherlock ruffled his hair nervously. "I've just learnt them. I'm not any good."  
"Just try. I promise I won't make fun." I waved a hand at him. "Just once."  
Sherlock sighed and set his bag on the pavement. "I wouldn't be surprised if you did." He muttered. He hesitated a moment before performing a quick side shasay before kicking his left leg behind him and pushing off the ground with his right leg. As soon as he was in the air he switched legs and landed, with only a slight wobble, on his left leg.  
I grinned and clapped as Sherlock straightened up, causing the younger boy to turn twenty shades of red. He quickly scurried back to grab his bag, head ducked the whole time. "It really wasn't that good." He murmured.  
"It looked fine to me." I shrugged, still grinning at the obviously flustered Sherlock.  
The dark haired boy was just about to say something when another voice bellowed from the front doorway of the house they were in front of. "Sherlock! The fuck you think you're doing out there?! Get your ass inside!"  
I watched Sherlocks face drain of all colour as he hurriedly swung the bag over his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm... I'm sorry. I've got to go." He stumbled over his words as he backed towards the house, then turned and bolted for the door.  
I stood there for a minute until I heard shouting coming from the home and took that as a sign to clear out.


	2. Day 2

The next day, walking home from school, I caught up to Sherlock again, falling in step beside him and chatting about the magnificent sandwich I'd had earlier that day. "But anyway, most people don't usually like bologna and jelly sandwiches, but I think they're great. Actually I don't think most people have ever tried one. What about you?"  
"Please go away." Sherlock muttered, actually speaking for the first time since I had arrived  
"What?"  
"Go away."   
"Why?"  
"Because. I don't need your company." Sherlock folded his arms to his chest tightly.  
I frowned at him. "I thought we got along pretty well yesterday."  
"That's dandy. Go away."  
"You know, I don't even think I told you my name."   
"That's fine. Now leave."  
"Its John, by the way. John Watson."   
"GO AWAY!" Sherlock shouted, turning to face me and revealing a painful looking black eye.  
I took a step back as Sherlock scowled and turned back to the ground. "What happened?"  
"Nothing."  
"Well, obviously something had to have happened." I argued, crossing my arms.  
"Nothing happened."  
"Did they make fun of you for that too?"  
"Yes."  
"They didn't give it to you did they?"  
"No."  
"Was it Jim? He's such a jerk."  
Sherlock stiffened up and took on a glazed look.   
"It was Jim. I knew it. You want me to punch him for you?"  
The younger boy was silent for a minute before taking off without another word.   
I hesitated a moment, knowing it wasn't really my place to go after him. It's not like we were even really friends. We were just two students who happened to walk home together twice.   
That settled it. I took off, shouting at Sherlock to stop running. We passed the house that Sherlock had run into the day before. Several blocks later we passed my house.   
He was quick. I pumped my legs as I slowly gained on him. _Stupid short legs._  
Suddenly Sherlock veered right, and continued sprinting down the street. I, on the other hand, slowed to a stop and doubled over. After a moment of panting, I straightened up and gazed down the street, lined with several small shops, trying to spot the kid. "What's he want down here?" I breathed, still fairly winded.   
I looked back down the road I'd just run. My mum hadn't sent Harry to chase after me, despite having waved at me as I'd sprinted past. I sighed and began ambling down the shop road, reading the signs and window shopping.   
At some point I found my way to the front of some sort of dance studio. The sign said closed and all of the lights inside were off. I tilted my head and frowned. "Sherlock?"  
"Go... away..." A trembling voice came from the side of the building.   
"Sherlock, I didn't mean to upset you."   
"Go away."   
I sighed and walked around the building. "Why are you here?" I looked down at the crying Holmes boy.   
"Why won't you leave me alone?" Sherlock pulled his legs against his chest.  
"Because you shouldn't be alone."  
"Alone is what I have. Alone protects me." His voice quivvered.  
"No, friends protect people." I argued. "Why are you _here_ though?"  
Sherlock finally looked up at me, his face a mix of confusion, anger, and pain. "Because this is the only place I'm safe!"  
I blinked in confusion and took a step back. "What do you mean 'safe'?"  
Sherlock wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Oh, use your brain, John!" He shouted up at me.   
I stayed silent and just watched him. He was shaking.   
"Why do you think I'd come here?!" He cried. "Isn't your home supposed to be where you're safest? Where are you supposed to go when your home isn't safe?!" He stopped shouting and recoiled back into a tight ball. When I didn't answer, he spoke again. "Who are you anyway? Why do you care about me at all? Everyone else calls me a freak. If you're just doing this because you feel sorry for me, just go away. I don't need your pity."  
"I don't pity you." I answered, slightly afraid of him now.   
"Then why are you here?"   
"Because I think you're neat." I smiled softly. "Now come on, you can come back to my house if you like. My mum makes great after school snacks."


	3. Day 3

I was late getting out of school that day. My teacher had asked me to stay behind so she could help me out with the long division problems that I was having such a hard time with. She kept me an extra twenty minutes, but I still bolted for the door the second she was done in hopes of catching up to Sherlock.   
As I rounded the side of the school I briefly noted Jim, and his posse of two, laughing at something they had cornered. I didn't pay much attention until I realised they'd cornered the one I was trying to get to. A strange anger bubbled up inside of me and I clenched my fists, walking up behind the group.   
"What the hell are you doing?" I growled. It was the first time I'd ever really cursed. It was a little unnerving, but oddly empowering.   
The three boys turned to face me as Sherlock slowly unravelled from the protective ball formation he'd assumed. "Why do you care?" Jim glared at me.   
"I care if you're hurting him." I was a good three inches shorter than all three of the other boys, and it was slightly intimidating, but I wasn't about to back down. It was a little late for that anyway.  
Jim grinned, maliciously. "Why, is he your boyfriend?" Charles and Sebastian giggled behind him. "He's not my boyfriend." I said sternly. "And so what if he is?"   
Jim scoffed at me. "Queer."   
That was it. I grabbed him by his shirt collar and yanked him down enough to introduce his face to my fist. He recoiled from the punch and quickly gathered himself before retaliating.   
We went back and forth, punching, kicking, scratching, for what seemed like an hour, but was really only about five minutes. Sherlock had slunk off to the side and, though they were avoiding any actual conflict, Charles and Seb had taken up rallying Jim.   
Suddenly their cheering stopped and a moment later another voice was shouting at us to knock it off. A pair of hands reached between us and pried us apart, allowing their owner to step in between us.   
"Both of you, stop it!" He shouted at us. Jim wrenched away from him and straightened his collar, glaring at me.   
"Mycroft." Sherlock sheepishly crept behind the older boy. "What are you doing?"   
"You both look terrible. And now you have to go home and explain to your parents what happened." I suddenly realised that Sherlock wasn't fairing much better than I was. The three boys had already left their marks on him before I was even out of my class. Mycroft turned and grabbed Sherlock's hand, walking him back into the school. "All of you go home." He demanded, before walking into the building.


End file.
